


Misunderstandings

by Severina



Series: The Condemnedverse [8]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl watches a droplet slide down the kid’s neck, tracks it until it moistens the collar of his T-shirt.  He licks his lips, forces himself to look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt 'rubbery'
> 
> * * *

When Daryl first hears the crashing in the underbrush behind him, he spins around, swings his bow to his chest and immediately stills, scans the surrounding woods for the source. It only takes him a moment to realize the sound is too loud to be a woodchuck or a ‘coon, too fucking deliberate for a walker. By the time another branch snaps to his far left he’s pinpointed the location. Knows exactly who it is, too. He shakes his head before sliding the crossbow into place, turns his back on the noise and continues on his way.

Damn kid wants to follow him, fine. He ain’t gonna slow down and make it easy for him.

He scowls down at the ground, finds himself quickening his pace even more as he kicks his way through a tangle of thick growth. By the time he comes to a clearing he’s breathing heavy and he ain’t entirely sure it’s just from the trek through the woods.

He walks to the center of the clearing and slumps back against a tree stump, divests himself of his gear and crawls a hand through the scruff on his chin. 

Goddamn Glenn.

He’s been doing his best to avoid the kid ever since their… talk. Even though it’s been three days now, his mind still shies away from calling that final moment a kiss. Can’t hardly call it that anyhow, kid’s lips barely brushed against his. Don’t matter that sometimes he thinks he can still feel it, that light press of Glenn’s lips on his, ‘specially late at night when everybody else is sound asleep and there’s only a couple of thin walls in the old motel separating them. When he thinks that maybe if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll be able to hear Glenn’s even breathing through those thin walls. Wonders if the kid snuffles in his sleep, or snores, or steals all the blankets. It’s late at night when he lets the hope seep in again, lets himself believe that maybe… maybe someday he’ll find out. 

But Glenn never came to see him again after that not-kiss, didn’t even show up to get his portion of whatever Carol and Lori managed to scrounge up out of their dwindling supplies for dinner. 

Maggie didn’t show up, either.

And since then Daryl’s been making it his business to be out of the camp before dawn, setting and checking snares, taking down squirrels, getting back to the motel only with enough time to skin the kills and set them stewing before taking off again. They can’t keep living on beans and dented cans of corn; he’s knows what he’s gotta do and that’s provide for his people. 

He’s only seen Glenn a couple of times. Once helping Maggie carry water up from the little stream out behind the motel. Once up on the roof repairing one of the larger holes, and he’d stiffened when the kid lost his footing, slid a few feet. Was already moving toward the building even though there was shit he could do about it when Glenn caught his balance, grinned over at T-Dog like it was nothin’. Like he didn’t almost just fall to his goddamn death.

That’s when he knew he was fucked. Didn’t matter that Glenn clearly re-thought the whole thing, decided that he ought to stick with the farmer’s daughter. Part of him belonged to Daryl now -- one afternoon under the sweltering sun and a stupid kid’s game called I’ve Never was all it took. And Daryl knew right then that he’d always worry, always fight to keep the kid safe, even if Glenn didn’t really belong to him at all. 

He looks up when the crashing in the forest gets louder, sees Glenn stumble from the tree line, swatting at the brambles catching on his jeans. The kid stops short when he sees him just sitting there, glances over his shoulder like maybe there’s someone else coming up behind him that Daryl is really waiting on. Jesus, like there’s anybody else in the damn group could make him stop what he’s doing when he’s got his mind set.

“Took you long enough,” he calls out.

“Hey,” Glenn says. “I didn’t think you’d….” 

He falters, pushes at that damn stupid baseball cap that makes him look all of fifteen and swipes a hand across his forehead. Might be early morning but it’s already damn hot, sweat trickling down the sides of the kid’s face, dampening his hair. Daryl watches a droplet slide down the kid’s neck, tracks it until it moistens the collar of his T-shirt. He licks his lips, forces himself to look away.

Glenn clears his throat. “You’re a hard man to find these days.”

Daryl pushes up from the stump, can’t sit still when the kid’s standin’ there Looking at him. “Got shit to do,” he says shortly. “Somebody’s gotta keep this damn group in fresh meat.”

Glenn glances toward the rope pooled on the ground– already three squirrels tied up there, scrawny buggers but they’re better than another night of watered down soup and beans – and grimaces, and Daryl finds himself bristling. “Don’t see you out doin’ any hunting. You think you could find somethin’ better? Be my fucking guest.”

“I found you,” Glenn points out.

The kid is goddamn grinning, and something snaps in Daryl’s chest, an actual physical ache that he’d almost forgotten about. It happened when Merle’d push his big hand in Daryl’s face, sick of his little brother doggin’ after him everywhere. When he stole glances at someone on the playground and they sneered, laughed at him in his hand-me-downs. It was why he closed up and stopped tryin’ in the first place, why he spent his days tinkering with old bikes and settled for backroom fucks when the itch got bad.

“Yeah, you found me,” he bites out. “So go on. Say what you gotta say so I can get back to work. Got snares I gotta check, ain’t got time to stand around waitin’ for you to moon to me about the farmer’s daughter!”

“No, I know, you… wait. What?”

“You think I ain’t seen you two together? You think I don’t know what you’re too pussy to come out and say to my face?”

“Wait. WHAT?” Glenn repeats.

When he takes a step forward, Daryl finds himself taking a skittish step back, juts his chin and squares his shoulders when he realizes what he’s done. Meets Glenn’s eyes square on despite the pounding of his heart, despite the ache in his chest that just won’t go away.

“Maggie and I… we’re still friends,” Glenn says slowly. “And we had a long talk. She understands. She said she even suspected something was up, when she told me she loved me and I didn’t say it back until the farm got overrun. She said she knew it was just… a comfort thing. A knee-jerk reaction or something.” Glenn grins sheepishly. “Besides, she said I kept looking at your arms.”

Daryl scowls, glances down at his left arm. Grimy and dirt-smeared. Buildin’ up a bit of muscle since the walkers showed up, but that’s what hard work practically twenty-four seven will get ya. It’s just a damn arm. 

When he looks back up Glenn has moved a little closer, and this time Daryl holds his ground. Even though now the pounding in his chest has moved into a double-time beat, and the shattering ache has given way to something that feels more like a flower blossoming, like a fist opening up somewhere inside him, unclenching after so, so long. When Glenn’s palm comes up to flatten against his chest he actually sways a little on his feet, legs rubbery, and sucks in a breath.

“Maggie and I are just friends,” Glenn says again. He shakes his head, looks like it’s taking all his willpower not to roll his eyes. Daryl’d say something about that if he could actually fucking breathe.

“You know,” Glenn continues lightly, “for a smart guy, sometimes you’re really fucking stupid.”

Daryl squints. He tells himself it’s just ‘cause the sun is at Glenn’s back, and not ‘cause Glenn himself looks like he’s shining. He cocks his head, feels the start of a grin – probably a stupid fucking goofyass ridiculous grin – on his face. “Careful, Jet Li. I think there was almost a compliment in there somewhere,” he says.

“Oh, there is,” Glenn says before he closes the remaining distance between them.

Glenn’s lips are warm and soft, sliding slowly over his. It takes Daryl a good five seconds to process what is happening, to believe it. Then he’s clutching at Glenn’s arms, pulling the kid closer, licking and sucking at his bottom lip, wanting entrance to that sweet mouth. When Glenn sighs into his mouth he slips his tongue inside, pulls the kid even closer, can’t get close enough. Can’t remember anything ever feeling this good, this right.

Yeah, this time there ain’t no mistaking it. This is a kiss.

There’s no turning back now.


End file.
